Thomas’s mouth opened, but no words came. Emily whispered, “It’s for you.” He rasped, “All of them?” Emily nodded. “All of us.”
One by one, each daughter stepped forward. Grace whispered, “I love you.” He kissed her forehead. Lily. Hannah. Nora. Paige. Each took his arm, walked a few steps, whispered love.
Finally Sophie. He hugged her too long. She whispered, “I’m sorry it’s not real.” Thomas shook his head. “You’re real.”
Then Emily and Thomas finished the aisle together—the real walk. The vows, the rings, the tears.
At the reception, Thomas managed one slow sway with me. His head rested against my cheek. “I thought cancer stole it,” he whispered. “Not today,” I said.
Later, under string lights, the photographer lined us up—seven daughters in gowns, one dad, one mom. “On three. Everybody look at Thomas.” He laughed. “Why me?” Sophie said, “Because you’re the reason.”
Flash.
That night, exhausted, Thomas whispered, “Okay. I’m done being brave.”
At home, he paused at the doorway, staring at the pencil marks of the girls’ heights on the trim. “They’re all taller than me now.” “You made them tall,” I said.
He squeezed my hand. “Promise me something else. Don’t let them pretend they’re fine. Not after I’m gone.” My throat burned. “Promise.”
The girls piled into the living room in mismatched gowns, laughing too loud because quiet was scary. Grace asked, “Did we do okay?” “Better than okay,” I said.
